


A Modern Barrayaran

by fawatson



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-25 12:57:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10764723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: Ivan reacts strongly when Tej is in danger.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DesertVixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertVixen/gifts).



> **Author's Notes:**
> 
> (1) The title of this story is inspired by this exchange between Ivan and Tej towards the end of _Captain Vorpatril's Alliance_ : "Don't try to tell me some of _your_ ancestors didn't think the same way. Starting with your Aunt Cordelia's famous Winterfair gift to your Uncle Aral, and she wasn't even Barrayaran! Severed heads, _really_?" "Only the one," he protested. "And I," he added, drawing himself up with dignity, "am a much more modern Barrayaran." 
> 
> (2) The idea for one of Ivan's investments comes from the Ealing comedy _The Man in the White Suit_
> 
> (3) “No battle plan survives contact with the enemy” is a direct quotation from Helmuth von Moltke, a 19th C Prussian Field Marshall. 
> 
>  
> 
>  **Acknowledgements:** Many thanks to my sister for beta-reading. 
> 
>  
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit by them.

Ivan had discovered in himself a talent for his second career. Of course, his family connections no doubt _helped_ but he rather thought at least some of his rapid rise within diplomatic circles was down to his own abilities, not just his mother. He had never aspired to the kind of meteoric sprint to the heady heights of power that Miles had sought; but nonetheless he had felt some satisfaction with each promotion, and his steady progression from junior attaché to junior consul – from backwater assignment to a posting on a more important planet. There was something to be said for obscure mid-level service; a peaceful life was a good life. But then there was also something said for more interesting assignments. Like Earth. It might be a political and economic backwater now, but its history and culture made his position as Senior Aide to the Ambassador a plum job. If he made good here, his next assignment should see him Consul, at the very least, on some medium-important planet—fingers crossed, one close enough to Barrayar to see old friends a little more often. 

Not to mention family. His mother (and Simon, inevitably) foremost among them, though _they_ were the ones who had so providentially decided to visit Earth. Ivan promptly seized the opportunity to leave the children in their capable hands and whisk his wife away for a second honeymoon. 

Upon hearing these plans, his mother had made a dry sarcastic comment which he took pains not to hear. (She was their grandmother, after all. She was supposed to _want_ to spend time with her grandchildren.) Ironically, it was Simon who had leapt at the chance; he loved nothing better than spending the afternoon playing space invaders games with the younger generation. Yet, for all Ivan had called him ‘Uncle Simon’ when he was young, he didn’t remember Illyan doting on children back then. Not that he had exactly hated them – more just seemed distant and reserved. Except with Miles, of course. No one had ever had the chance to be distant around Miles, when he’d been a precocious child, demanding he be the centre of everything. As an adult too, come to think of it. Ivan felt a sense of self-satisfied superiority: _he_ settled for being the centre of just his family’s attention, and when it really came down to it, Tej’s attention. 

And so, childminders booked, and sworn to secrecy, Ivan had set about organising a surprise holiday to Alpha Colony to give his wife for their wedding anniversary. Closer to Earth (and its first attempt at galactic expansion, as its name implied), Alpha Colony had long-since been bypassed by the hubbub of interstellar travel. It was an altogether sleepier world than its more famous cousin Beta Colony, and therefore there was, from Ivan’s perspective, no more idyllic place for a quiet, relaxing break from day-to-day cares. It was only one day’s travel from Earth in normal space which meant there was no need for Tej to suffer the misery of any transitions. One wormhole led to Rho Ceta, another to Jackson’s Whole, so if Tej really wanted, they could take a side trip to see her Dada and the Baronne. (On balance, Ivan hoped she would not.) 

Ivan had told his children the day before embarkation, not trusting them to keep their excitement to themselves for too long before he sprang the celebratory trip on his wife. It was Ivan’s habit to take his son and daughter to the children’s play park in Kensington Gardens every Sunday. Named after some obscure royal, who had died long before humans achieved economically viable spaceflight, its centrepiece was a mock pre-industrial pirate ship. Young Padma Shiv, armed with a toy cutlass, made a beeline for the tallest mast, while Ivan sat with his daughter making castles in the sand and decorating them with shells. He wondered what Lady ghem Estif would have made of his children if she still lived. Would she have thought he and Tej made the right choice when they refused her offer of gengineering? As they grew tall and slender and supernaturally good looking – as little Udine Alys’ _hair_ grew – Ivan could not help but wonder. _Had_ Tej’s haughty grandmama accepted their decision? Tej had reassured him that Lady ghem Estif would never tinker with anything without permission. And recessives did throw up the unlikeliest attributes. At least Padma had inherited the familiar Vorpatril nose. 

Ivan’s doubt about the wisdom of utilising the services of Tej’s grandmother when they started their family acted like gentle background music which never really disappeared; but it had been superseded by the overwhelming rush of love he had felt the first moment each baby had been placed in his arms. Unexpected love. Oh, Ivan had been prepared to feel some affection for his children; after all they were _his_ and, more importantly, they were what Tej wanted. What he had not expected was this upwelling of devotion. Was this what his mother had been feeling for him all these years? Marriage had certainly begun Ivan’s transformation from devil-may-care, suave man-about-town; but the birth of baby Padma Shiv seven years ago had completed the change in the space of two seconds. Little Udine Alys three years later had simply consolidated her father’s protective instincts. 

The children’s picnic lunch was topped off by 99s bought from a vendor, over which Ivan explained that he and their Mama were going away for a bit, just the two of them, while they were staying behind with Grandmere and Grandpere, who had all sorts of special plans for their entertainment while their parents were away. Two happy, excited children were taken home, brimming with the importance of their secret to share with their Mama over dinner that evening. The next day saw a flurry of packing, last minute instructions; and Padma and Udine had last been seen waving their parents goodbye at the shuttleport. 

Simon and his mother were to bring them to Alpha Colony in a little over a week’s time so the whole family could enjoy a few days at the Pamukkale Water Park. Although the colours of Alpha showed predominantly the verdant green and gold of agriculture and brilliant green-blue of clean clear seas, its main continent possessed an inner plain where a series of small geysers and thermal vents had led to the formation of travertines containing natural thermal baths. They had been discovered by a delighted Karim Kemal in the first geo-mapping exercise of the colony; he immediately named it after similar (but perhaps not quite so large) springs in his Turkish homeland on Earth. As Alpha’s economy gradually matured from one in which primary industry dominated in the early years of settlement, to, as the centuries progressed, one increasingly based on tourism, these natural warm pools had been supplemented with water shutes and slides for children plus an artificial wave pool cunningly designed to look just like one of the travertines. Ivan had booked ten days in a luxury three bedroom chalet for Tej and him together; the rest of the Vorpatril family was expected to join them for the last three days. Meanwhile, Tej kept in touch through daily tightbeam. 

Ivan, too, kept in touch with the office. He had long since realised that there was only one real problem with success: with each promotion it became more difficult to keep to office hours. Increasingly the buck stopped with him. True, he was paid reasonably well, but not well enough to want his job to take over. Interesting work just didn’t cut the mustard in comparison with Tej (or, since their birth - one’s own offspring). So, he trained up juniors rigorously, enabling him to delegate as much as possible. He had learned to spot the up-and-coming who could use their brains, rather than simply respond by rote. Even so, no matter how he tried to weed out the by-the-book company man who followed the rules meticulously but had no head for decision-making, he had found that seemingly inevitably, there was one in every embassy. Also inevitably, that person always seemed to be assigned to him. (Ivan suspected purposely, given his reputation for…hmm…personnel selection had been established under Admiral Desplains and commented on in almost every annual performance review since.) He normally managed to move the person on within a relatively short time; but sadly this Earth version of VorBuggins had proven more difficult to shift into a position where he could do no harm. Until now. The young and wet-behind-the ears but nonetheless extremely bright junior attaché assigned to assist Ivan’s chief assistant had (fortunately) used his initiative to go over his dull-witted supervisor’s head and had sent an urgent message this morning, begging Ivan’s support in untangling the mess his time-serving manager had managed to make. It had stolen the better part of one day’s holiday for Ivan to resolve the matter, simultaneously finessing the lateral transfer of the blundering mid-level supervisor to the legal section, while strongly recommending a brevet promotion to the ensign (now lieutenant). Ivan trusted he would not be troubled again for the rest of his holiday. 

On his way back to the resort, Ivan stopped at a local shop to pick up a bottle of bubbly to celebrate, along with some nice-looking vat steaks. This would be one of their last nights alone together before the rest of the family arrived and Ivan planned to make the most of it. He arrived to find empty accommodation. Tej must still be soaking in the hot springs. No matter. Ivan took a quick shower and changed into more comfortable clothes before laying the table and organising the makings of the meal on the kitchen counter, ready to cook when Tej arrived back. Soft music completed the romantic scene. 

He woke, hours later, neck stiff from sleeping in an awkward position on the sofa, with a nasty, tinny taste in his mouth and a splitting headache. The dining table was overturned; an armchair was shoved out of position; a police dog was making short work of the steaks; and a doctor was checking his pulse.

“Right. I’ve administered the antidote,” the doctor said. “He’s able to answer your questions.” Then he added, closing his bag with a snap, “He’ll have one hell of a headache, though.” 

Tell me about it, thought Ivan, as he moved his head to the left to straighten out the kink and deeply regretted it. He leaned over and retched.

“And movement is likely to bring on nausea.”

 _Now_ he warns me, Ivan thought. 

A middle-aged policeman with sympathetic eyes helped him to sit upright at the other end of the sofa. One corner of Ivan’s brain admired how neatly he avoided the smelly mess Ivan had just made. But the rest of him …

“Tej–” Ivan croaked. 

“It appears she’s been kidnapped, Mr Vorpatril.”


	2. Chapter 2

Ivan had always taken his wealth for granted. Of course, he had started with a nice little inheritance from his long-dead father, carefully husbanded by Mamere when he was just a sprog. She had tended to invest locally in Barrayaran business. At 21, when he first met with his man of business to take control of his inheritance, Ivan had not been the wealthiest person on Barrayar, far from it. Many of the up-and-coming commercially oriented proles had long since surpassed his holdings. But the advantage of being a junior cadet member of the Vor meant one had all the connections to exploit, but did _not_ have any of those burdensome commitments associated with being Count. Ruling a district had never been Ivan’s aspiration; he had always been extremely pleased Count and Countess Vorpatril had several offspring between him and the Countship. Ivan had lived to the full on his income as lieutenant and then captain, supplemented with some of his interest income from his patrimony. (This funded his apartment in Vorbarr Sultana). 

The rest he had played with. Ivan had diversified into galactic interests, quietly but methodically. The majority of his capital he had left in the hands of his man of business to deal with, having given him the simple instruction: don’t bankrupt me – the rest is up to you. Twice annually he was sent a report about the progress of those capital investments, which had, for the most part had been placed in secure, safe, businesses – what the man called ‘blue chip stock’ (a term that Ivan had never quite understood) which accrued steady returns that consolidated his wealth over time. However, Ivan had always set aside a small proportion of his income each year to put in more…unusual…investments: ones which carried greater risk but brought greater profits, _if_ they made any at all. Lacking any solid business training, his choices had tended to the eclectic: anything which caught his interest. But he had been lucky: that new drug which did not merely alleviate but actually cured prostate cancer, for example. The market was wide and the profit exceptional. And that remarkable new synthetic material that never wore out, impervious to moisture as it was. The limited imagination of the little chemist who had invented it had encompassed only the concept of _clothing_ that never wore out (all, most peculiarly, startlingly white, since the fibres would take no dye). Ivan had immediately seen the application to space-gear. All kinds of space-gear. The patent on _that_ made IXP Holdings one of the most lucrative galactic corporations in the history of man. 

Today – one day post-Tej (as he was terming it privately) – Ivan spent money profligately. Alpha Colony’s deserved reputation as a resort planet, along with its wormhole to Jackson’s Whole made it the preferred leave destination for mercenary companies who were between contracts. When Ivan arrived, four had been in orbit. Cavilo’s Rangers made a sudden unannounced departure through the Jackson Whole wormhole without filing a flight plan, from which Ivan deduced that it was they who had the captive Tej in their ‘care’. This left two other large companies and one small. It was short work to acquire the two large companies. Ivan could not help but feel a smug superiority to his cousin Miles who had merely commanded the Dendarii Mercenaries which had been owned by ImpSec. Next, Ivan focused on the small force: tiny but elite, possessing small superfast craft heavily defended with plasma mirrors (yesterday’s technology but nonetheless superbly efficient at blocking incoming fire) and possessing imploder lances outsized for such small spaceships, phaser cannon and photon torpedoes. His attempt to buy outright was fiercely blocked. In the end, it was his reason for needing the company which swayed its owner, James Randall – the son who had been dispossessed of his natural inheritance when Cavilo had taken over the father’s mercenary company on his untimely death. 

“At _her_ hands, I am convinced,” said James Randall, as the negotiations drew to a close and he offered Ivan his hand, “though I never found any proof.” 

“Proof won’t be necessary this way,” Ivan smiled, “just firepower.” It was an alliance Ivan thought would probably serve better in the end than outright ownership. 

“I’ll believe she’s dead when I see her head,” said Randall bitterly. And they shook on it. 

Finally, remembering how highly Miles had valued the man’s judgment, Ivan decided to track down Ky Tung. Originally, he had just planned to consult with him in his retirement on Earth. However, Ivan learned that, after a couple of years, running a tourist resort had become too limiting for a man of Tung’s energy. Instead, he and his wife had upped and moved to Alpha Colony. _She_ ran an up-market tour company that catered to people who wanted adventure holidays shooting white-water rapids. _He_ used his old connections with mercenary fleets to run an exotic import/export business focusing on space armour and ship’s weaponry - bio-weaponry. 

“ _Bio_ -weaponry?” Ivan asked. He was seated on a veranda overlooking a canyon gorge with mountains in the distance. Almost he could imagine himself back with Miles and Elena in the Dendarii Mountains during school holidays. Except... as a child he had never been served fruity cocktails with little umbrellas that delivered a major alcoholic impact. Nor had he been given glossy catalogues showing the latest in needler guns and command systems. 

“Just come on the market in the last two weeks,” Tung said affably. “I believe it was originally being developed to provide cost-effective tunnelling for underground construction projects; but that never quite worked out the…ahem… bugs, if I’m allowed the pun,” Tung laughed. “Apparently, the microborers have a mind of their own – I use the term loosely since they really don’t have _minds_ as we know them – but they go off in any and all directions if released in an oxygen-rich atmosphere. “

“Microborers? “ Ivan took a deep gulp of his drink, remembering events under Cockroach Central some years before. 

Tung appeared not to notice his customer’s disquiet, as he happily continued. “Yes, it’s packaged with a canister of oxygen in a missile that clamps onto the side of a space ship. The oxygen is released into the package of bacteria which quickly multiply and eat their way into the ship’s hull and then onward and through whatever is in their way. If the shot is placed right they can leave a ship completely without any power by consuming its engine room.”

He sounded enthusiastic as he flipped through the pages of his marketing brochure to find the right page and handed it over. Ivan looked appalled at the image before him of a ship’s hull which resembled Swiss cheese. 

“The trick is to place the shot just right,” Tung continued. “I can sell you the guidance system that will deliver the best performance if any of your ships need to upgrade.” 

In the end Ivan bought Tung – or strictly speaking, his time and expertise – along with one hundred missiles. He felt a certain wry amusement as he watched the balance in his account bank account reduce by an unhealthy sum as the transaction was approved. No doubt the profits of the company which manufactured the missiles (a firm to which Tej owned controlling interest, inherited from her grandmamma Lady ghem Estiff on her death) would show an incremental increase. Next year _she_ could pay for the school fees for the children’s exclusive education, he decided. That is, once he had got her back. 

The missiles, on special order from Earth, were to be delivered the day after next. Ivan spent the evening downloading detailed star charts. Then, reluctant but exhausted, he went into the room he had shared with Tej. The chalet had been thoroughly cleaned; no one entering would dream there had been a ruckus not long since. The wide divan in the master bedroom was newly made with fresh sheets. It looked … lonely. Almost as lonely as Ivan. In the end, he curled up for the night on one of the twin beds in the children’s room. 

The next morning he met the children at the shuttleport, and had to make up some excuse about why Tej was not also there to greet them. Truth to tell he had not thought about what to say until five minutes before the shuttle had landed, and he could tell from the look on his mother’s face that the explanation he stumbled through was uncharacteristically lame. At least his need to focus on guiding the rental lightflyer back to the resort kept questions at bay for a while; but, as they entered the chalet, Simon sniffed and stiffened warily. Ivan wondered if he was detecting the lingering smell of the sedative used in the air ducts by the abduction squad. If so, he didn’t say anything, but simply sat down on a sofa. 

“Let me show you all around,” said Ivan with feigned ebullience. 

“Don’t mind me,” said Simon. Ivan gave him a worried glance, but relaxed as the older man leaned back with a tired sigh. The children, on the other hand, were bouncing with energy, and eagerly followed their father as he showed them out of the room. Lady Alys followed thoughtfully. Ivan showed them each bedroom and its ensuite facilities, talking a little too fast and pointing out the obvious. The children bounced happily on their new beds. Kindly, their grandmother suggested that they might like to go swimming. Their shrieks of joy were audible back in the living room. There, Simon had found his own amusements, having spotted a hand-comp abandoned on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Hastily, he put it back as he heard the others coming back.

Lady Alys efficiently organised swimming costumes for the children and despatched them with a resort childminder to diving lessons. If she thought their absence would make Ivan more forthcoming, though, she was destined to be disappointed. He had, in the meantime, been ordering room service from the resort restaurant. Various plastic tubs with entrees and salads plus packets of thinly sliced vat beef and spicy vat lobster began to arrive; and he busied himself spooning things into bowls, opening the forgotten bottle of champagne from two nights ago, and laying out silverware on the table. 

Even before he had finished, his mother commanded, with an edge in her voice, “Stop procrastinating, Ivan, and tell us what is happening.” 

“I _rather_ think,” offered Simon, “that he’s been taking lessons from Lord Vorloupulous and swearing in 2000 cooks.” He picked up the hand-comp, and raised a brow. 

Ivan sat down rather abruptly, butter knife in hand. “Absolutely nothing as anachronistic as swearing involved at all,” he smiled weakly, “just a few short-term contracts plus a rather long shopping list.”


	3. Chapter 3

Simon and Ivan boarded the command ship the next afternoon, along with the microborer missiles, accompanied by Tung. The squat Eurasian seemed almost nostalgic to be back in tactical command. Ivan chaired one final briefing of the ship’s captains, setting out the battle strategy and objectives before he and Simon retired to the _Firefly_ ’s tiny captain’s cabin which had been hastily fitted with an extra bunk to accommodate the additional personnel. 

“You do know that no battle plan survives contact with the enemy,” Simon said gently after coming out of the cabin’s head to see Ivan obsessively check his hand-comp again. 

Ivan grimaced, put down the device and stretched his hands out before him. They shook slightly; and, normally beautifully manicured, in just three days he had bitten his fingernails to the quick. 

“I have been kicking myself,” he admitted. “There was an urgent communique from Sector HQ the day before we came away on holiday warning that something odd was brewing in Jackson’s Whole. I meant to ask Tej what she thought of it; but I figured it would wait until we got back. 

“Ivan, no one could have envisaged capturing Tej would be central to whatever plot was being hatched in Jackson’s Whole. She has never been involved with House politics; and Shiv and Udine have been fully in control of House Cordonah for several years.” 

Ivan simply shrugged, lay down, and rolled over to face the wall. Sighing, Illyan turned out the light. 

The next morning they jumped at 06:00, in precise battle order, through the wormhole to Jackson’s Whole. Ivan had lurked while Tung programmed the battle-comp; now he avidly watched the tactical display as his plans played out – not _quite_ as envisaged. As expected, Cordonah Station was surrounded by hostiles, having been surprised by warships disguised as merchant vessels two days before. But Fell Station was similarly beleaguered, as was Dyne Station, though by Cetagandan naval battleships, rather than mercenaries in the pay of Prestene. The fifth station, which had formerly guarded the wormhole to Alpha Colony simply was no more. It had never been as important as the others; now it was a burnt out shell. In contrast, Prestene Station showed no signs of damage, though the traffic to and fro clearly indicated it was being used as a command centre. Ivan took in at a glance. This was more than just another takeover attempt from Prestene: it was full-scale invasion by Cetaganda. 

Ivan slipped down to whisper in Tung’s ear: “Bypass the stations and send a fireship to that wormhole.” He pointed to the one leading to Cetagandan space. “We can mop up what’s here once we’ve closed the door.” 

Tung’s brows rose in question. “How,” he whispered back. “These are mercenaries, not your fanatical Barrayarans, you know – loyal unto death and all that.” 

Ivan’s eyes were piercingly cold. “Send a drone to collide with the vortex with a timed microborer bomb and one of those antiquated atomic warheads.”

Tung looked aghast. “That kind of dirty bomb will contaminate anything within a hundred parsecs.”

“Prestene should have thought of that before they got into bed with the Cetagandans.”

Tung studied the tac-comp display again. “I’d best send a few missiles in the planet’s direction as a feint.” He turned to his second-in-command, “Can you set up the attack on the wormhole?” 

Ivan’s eyes narrowed; he would not have thought of that. Service under Desplains had taught him strategy in spades but he was light in understanding detailed tactics to win a battle. He watched as Tung bent to his displays, fingers tapping commands quickly onto his com-console. As always, delegation was the key. 

Randall’s group was despatched; Ivan watched with grim satisfaction as several high orbital defence platforms were taken out in short order. Ground to space missiles fired revealing installations; they were the next to be targeted. There was the beauty of a ballet in the formations of ships diving in arcs round one another; he watched fascinated, losing himself in the patterns until his attention was recalled by Simon to one particular holographic image and Ivan took his seat, buckling himself into the safety restraints just in time to absorb the aftershock of the drone exploding at the interface of the wormhole vortex. 

It took several minutes for systems to resume full operation – nerve-wracking minutes when they hung defenceless in the heavens. Ivan’s only consolation was that so too were the enemy. He stretched his hands in front of his face: they were rock steady. He remembered Miles explaining how one’s nerves settled once battle was joined. Well that was true enough. But Ivan also remembered Miles talking about the adrenaline rush of combat, of the giddy excitement of battle and the sheer joy of winning. Next time he saw his cousin he must remember to tell him of the cold calculation of command. He had always known Miles and he were different; he had never realised just how different until this moment. 

“Concentrate half the microborer missiles on Prestene; but be careful: I don’t want them to affect the life support module,” Ivan commanded, “That station is where Tej will be and I don’t want her hurt.” 

Tung nodded, “I’ll fire the rest of them on the ships surrounding the other stations.”

“Target them to take out the engine rooms.” 

Tung looked startled. It was a punitive kill-all strategy. His marketing brochure might talk about the possibility, but it was not something a mercenary would normally consider using. He drew breath to protest, paused as he glanced at Ivan’s stern countenance, then his fingers raced again over his console as he sent the commands. 

“Any other orders King Ivan?” Tung asked, slightly sarcastic once the missiles were away. 

“Just cover my shuttle; I am going to retrieve Tej.” 

Ivan paused in the ship’s armoury long enough to don a battle suit and buckle on a disruptor and plasma arc before he swiftly climbed down three decks to the docking bay. Simon was already there in the pilot seat of the two-man shuttle. 

“You don’t have to come; I can fly this thing myself,” said Ivan. 

“And miss all the fun?” Simon retorted. “Have a heart: I spent most of my career stuck in an office. This is my last chance for excitement. Besides: you will need someone to keep an eye on the shuttle while you go looking for Tej.” 

Ivan conceded the point with a shrug. _Firefly_ dived in spirals round and round, avoiding flack, as it moved ever closer to Prestene Station. The shuttle ducked and rolled in its wake, using the broader beam of the command vessel as protection until the last minute when it flew straight and direct to slip onto the station shuttle pad. Ivan nodded and Simon cracked open the hatch, nerve disruptor ready to shoot the man waiting on the other side to commandeer the tiny vessel. Got him in one! 

A schematic display on his helmet directed Ivan to the holding cells – at least _in theory_ as Ivan quickly realised there had been some modifications to Prestene’s layout since the plans had been filed with what passed for Jacksonian authorities. And the microborer had made its own modifications, too. Ivan went down the row of cells flipping the release levers on each in turn but found no Tej. He growled in frustration and pinned a hapless Prestene employee to a bulkhead while he questioned him about the whereabouts of special prisoners. The man scurried off with desperate haste the moment Ivan loosed his grip on his neck; Ivan pressed on. 

Eschewing the lifts which were clearly malfunctioning – doors opening and closing convulsively – Ivan climbed an emergency ladder up four decks, then turned right and followed a corridor around past an impressive series of board and reception rooms until he came to a branching passage that led to…a viewing deck: _not_ the lab. He backtracked, grabbed another frantic employee for a quick interrogation, and headed off in another direction. This station was like a kicked anthill with all its Inhabitants desperately fleeing in every direction, he thought. Except for his wife who couldn’t flee the wrecked complex, kept under lock and key as she was. 

Ivan kicked doors left and right as he progressed down the corridor, checking each room until finally he came across the medical centre and laboratory, a set of inner doors to small cells, and Cavilo, in company with a paunchy grey-haired man of middle years. She had a plasma arc levelled, waiting for him. He ducked back behind the door as she got off the first shot. But not for nothing had Ivan played Capture the Flag with Miles and Gregor and Bothari all those years ago. He launched himself across the room in a flying tackle, bowling over the Head of Prestene in his wake, and landing on Cavilo. She was wearing armour but had removed her helmet. One quick twist with his hands rid her of the need to worry about that ever again. A hasty search of the unconscious Baron Prestene located key wands for the holding cells; moments later he was reunited with Tej. Sweet, sweet Tej, who kicked the Baron in the side and spat on him, before grabbing Ivan’s plasma arc. Groaning, he was just starting to come groggily round at Ivan’s feet. In one precise movement, Tej beheaded him. 

Ivan blinked slowly. He had seen Tej contented, sleepy, giggling, aroused. Years ago, when they first met, he had seen her frustrated and afraid. Never before had he seen her infuriated. In fact, had he been asked before now, he would have said his dear wife did not have a vengeful bone in her body – that same wife who was now carefully wrapping the decapitated head in shrink-wrap and popping it into a portable cool box. 

Not that she didn’t have an idea there, he thought, as his gaze rested on Cavilo. He remembered one night many, many years ago when he and Gregor had stayed up all night drinking maple mead and sharing memories of romantic misadventures, more romance on his part and misadventures on the part of his morose cousin. Cavilo had featured in those accounts, as Ivan recalled. There was also the minor consideration of his promise to James Randall. Ivan glanced from Cavilo’s supine body to the cool box, hesitating a moment before he picked up Cavilo's discarded weapon from the floor and used it to cut off her head. This, too, was a kind of tradition; he rather fancied Aunt Cordelia would approve. 


	4. Chapter 4

Ivan sat, Imperial Guardsman flanking him, with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. Except, of course, _normally_ he would have sat with Miles, rather than on his own. In fact, this whole escapade had more of a flavour of _Miles_ than him. Who was he, after all, to command a mercenary navy? Who was _he_ to rule a planet – even one as ramshackle as Jackson’s Whole? Somehow, events had overtaken him – no, had _taken_ him: blown him along in the wake of a hurricane.

Up to the point of Tej’s rescue, Ivan had been conscious of only one imperative: _to get her back._ Once she had been rescued however….

His good sense had begun to reassert itself on the trip back through the dying Prestene station to Simon and the awaiting shuttle. It had been the last on the docking pad; scorch marks on its hull and a mound of bodies had born mute witness to Simon’s activities defending it while Ivan had made his sortie; but all Illyan had said was a terse “about time,” as he put the shuttle in motion without even giving Tej time to buckle in.

As they flew back to the _Firefly_ , Ivan had been aware of a strangely disconnected duality in his thinking. On the one hand, his inner voice had been gleefully shouting, “I’ve done it – she’s safe!” On the other… he had felt a growing horror as Simon reported news of the battle. Shiv had regained control of Cordonah and Fell had also announced he’d captured the ships that were besieging him. Fighting remained fierce around Dyne Station, but its defenders were in good spirits and expected to regain control shortly. Three Cetagandan warships had been blown to atoms; two others were badly damaged; all this was good news.

But the rest of the Cetagandans – the bulk of their expeditionary force – had regrouped on the other side of the planet, occupying its few remaining orbital platforms, and – after it landed in force – controlling the planet’s considerable resources (including Fell's very impressive downside armoury). Sensibly, the Cetagandan ships had remained the other side of the planet, using it as a shield against the forces attacking them. It was a stand-off. His decision to blow up the wormhole to Xi Ceta had prevented reinforcements, but left the warships in this space nowhere to retreat to. A Cetagandan force this size would not be made welcome at Escobar or the Hegen Hub – nor any other wormhole destination. Cornered as they were, it was a situation ripe for a fight to the death. Ivan shuddered. He commanded _mercenaries_. The three combined companies made a good sized force, but nothing compared to the Cetagandans.

“Has anybody figured out yet what all this was _for_?” Ivan remembered asking.

“That Prestene pig was commissioned to kidnap and send me to Cetaganda.” Tej had sounded deeply aggrieved.

“Indeed,” Simon had said. Ivan remembered how calm he had sounded – well he must have had, after all, considerable practice when he was Head of ImpSec.

“Only Cavilo doubled-crossed him, so the Cetagandans decided they’d resolve the problem by taking over.”

“Why you?” asked Ivan. “I mean, I know how important you are to _me_ , but to the Cetagandans?”

“Not just me,” admitted Tej, “the Baronne and Pidge and Star and Erik – all of us! The Prestene doctor said something about a virus that wiped out genetic stocks of Constellation Rond so they were collecting out-crosses to restock.”

“Were they indeed?” Ivan frowned as he thought.

“They could have made a _deal_ ; but instead they chose thievery!”

And so he had found the solution – a _Jacksonian_ solution with a Barrayaran twist. Tight-beam messages had been exchanged and a sit-down conference arranged under flag of truce. Baron Fell had offered to host; Ivan watched while he ordered the chairs swapped for a special set the Baron used only for the most delicate negotiations. When he checked, Ivan realised the ones positioned on the Cetagandan side of the table might look the same at first glance, but the seats were actually set slightly lower, rendering them less comfortable (and decidedly awkward to get into and out of). Ivan had set Illyan the task of rustling up a Barrayaran Imperial flag. To his surprise Simon had unearthed an old, gold-embroidered standard from Emperor Yuri’s day, hidden in a dusty hold at the back of Dyne Station. It seemed Prince Xav had abandoned it there long ago on one of his trips buying arms in the Second Cetagandan War when he needed to reduce mass for a jump. Of all the memories for Simon to retain...second-hand from old Ezar who had reminisced about the galactic exploits of his dashing great-uncle, to a green young lieutenant newly seconded to the Emperor’s personal guard, long, long ago.

The first day of negotiations had seen the usual testing of strength. The commanding ghem General had stayed in his flagship and sent his subordinates. In response, Ivan sat in stony silence, leaving Fell to make biting remarks about the inevitable outcome if the Cetagandans failed to negotiate in good faith. The next day had seen more progress. Overnight, Shiv decorated the meeting room with the severed heads of Baron Prestene and Commander Cavilo, prominently positioning them on spikes, each at one end of the negotiating table. The returning subordinates looked slightly shocked when they spotted the grisly remains. Ghem General Chilian looked deeply satisfied. Clearly he was made of sterner stuff than the Captains who flanked him; but Ivan rather fancied it was more than that. Cavilo and Prestene had tried to double-cross; Ivan knew how the Cetagandans dealt with traitors.

The sticking point had proved unexpected. Cetaganda had had enough of Jackson’s Whole on its doorstep, hence the invasion. (Cavilo and Prestene’s recent antics had just been the last straw.) They would not leave Jackson’s Whole to its own devices any longer: someone needed to take it in charge. But they did not want Barrayar on their doorstep either. One wormhole direct from Barrayaran-controlled Komarr to Eta Ceta was bad enough. Control of a second wormhole, one that led direct to Xi Ceta, opened the possibility of war on two fronts simultaneously. The Senior Cetagandan Captain proved a bit of a war buff. He and Tung exchanged crocodile smiles as they discussed the famous defeats from history. To Ivan it had seemed they scored roughly even as they argued. He had kept quiet, watching Chilian carefully, even as Chilian watched him. By the end of the second day, a lot of words had been spoken but no agreement had been reached.

Before he retired for the night, Ivan had sent James Randall’s fastest ship back to Alpha Colony. The next morning, just as the Cetagandan delegates emerged from their shuttle, Randall’s courier docked, and young Udine Alys bounced excitedly into her mother’s arms, followed almost immediately by Padma Shiv. Ghem General Chilian had looked stunned, as well he should, Ivan thought smugly, having just seen a youthful version of his long-dead wife Vio.

And so, in the end, a Deal had been struck. In exchange for blood samples from Udine, each of her offspring (both odd and even sibs), and his own children, Jackson’s Whole exchanged Cetagandan military occupation for Barrayaran rule, under the auspices of Viceroy Vorpatril who would rule in conjunction with a Council of Barons. Cetaganda would, however, be admitted to that elite group by virtue of holding onto the former Prestene Station, thus controlling its wormhole access. Given that the wormhole would be inoperable for several months, and in the interests of getting Cetagandan forces _out_ of local space as quickly as possible, Ivan sweetened the Deal by throwing in safe passage back to Cetagandan home space via Alpha Colony.

Ivan had sent an urgent report to Barrayar before he slept that night; in return he had received an urgent summons.

And so he sat, here in the Imperial Residence, waiting for his liege lord, Gregor Vorbarra himself, Emperor of Barrayar, Komarr, Sergyar, and Jackson’s Whole (by God!) to receive him – to exonerate him (he hoped) of his treasonous breach of the Imperial Edict of Dorca the Just. Ivan comforted himself with the thought that at least he had been provided a bench to sit on while he waited – however hard it was. Finally the door opened and Allegre emerged, briefcase in hand. He did not acknowledge Ivan’s presence by even so much as a glance, simply turned right and walked briskly down the corridor. Again Ivan waited, though not for too much longer, before Gregor’s Major Domo opened the door.

Gregor sat, silent, behind his oak desk. Ivan stood directly in front of him, equally silent, head bowed. Finally, Gregor spoke. “Wasn’t I promoting you fast enough, Emperor Ivan?”


	5. Chapter 5

Ivan had never aspired to stand in the Council of Counts. This was by no means his first time seeing the great hall. He had played in it as a child (Gregor and he had hidden here once while being hunted by Miles in a game of tag). He had sat in the visitor’s gallery several times, escorting Mamere who wanted to observe some vote or other (he forgot exactly which votes and why they had been considered so important). _So_ much safer watching rather than being part of the history of this building. He had the unforgettable memory of the time he had stood with Miles after their Felician adventure (would that he _could_ forget that time!). And now this. He was sweating already, and the door wasn’t even open yet. 

A fanfare sounded and the double doors slowly swung open, framing Ivan standing in the antechamber just outside. He took a deep breath and then, in his most formal house uniform, ceremonial sword at his side, Ivan took two steps forward, before he paused in the doorway for all to see. From some forgotten corner of his personal armoury, Baron Fell – now appointed Speaker of the Jacksonian Council – had unearthed an old sabre for ceremonial use. It rested on a red velvet cushion Ivan held stiffly in front of him. Summoned by a gesture from the Lord Guardian of the Circle, Ivan walked slowly up the aisle between the seated Counts in Council, knelt before his Emperor, and placed the cushion on the floor.

“Sire, I present to you this sword, as a token of my service to you in the war against Barrayar’s sworn enemy Jackson’s Whole.”


End file.
